


On Mind Palaces and Libraries

by MxPseudonym



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confused John Watson, Impatient Mycroft, Slightly Sappy Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxPseudonym/pseuds/MxPseudonym
Summary: You've finally got yourself a mind palace, but Sherlock can't find out so you have to be sneaky.--“What the hell are you doing?"”…Meditating,“ you said with zero confidence."You looked possessed.""It wasn’t going well. Or it was going very well, depending on who you ask."
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock Holmes & You
Kudos: 25





	On Mind Palaces and Libraries

At first, you didn’t know if you actually wanted to learn how to use a mind palace. Though it could be fun, it would mean that Sherlock would be even more insufferable than usual when you didn’t know something. He’d also tease you about it like when John got that swiss army knife and Sherlock was all, “will we be intimidating suspects with the cork screw or the tiny scissors today?” But you still wanted to learn. 

So, you got Mycroft to teach you. 

It only took promising that he’d only have to say everything once and that you’d tolerate his impatience. That was about six months ago. At first, you mainly kept usernames and passwords in your “library room.” (It turned out it was called loci, you could have any sort of place you wanted, and Sherlock used a palace because he was pompous.) Then you added an address book, an atlas for all of your directions, and quite a bit more when you got a chance. Mycroft charged you with visiting the room once a day for at least a few moments to “tidy up.” He did not approve of you calling this a “precious” way of describing it, but it was in your mind. 

Though your memory had improved tenfold, your stealth skills had not. Not telling Sherlock meant not telling John. Unfortunately, after almost getting caught several times, it was either telling John or having an intervention. The first time he caught you, you made pancakes from scratch and forgot if it was one egg or two for the batter. You made the mistake of physically flipping the page in a recipe book that was not there, to which John asked what you were doing, and you pretended you had no idea what he meant. 

It was two eggs. 

The second time you were sat in Sherlock’s chair at 221B while he was out getting crisps and paying the new corner shop to not give him cigarettes. Mycroft said it only needed a few moments a day, and you had at least five minutes. You sat focused, tapping regularly and murmuring a few things aloud. There was the phone number of the new Indian restaurant you’d discovered, and the sale dates at your favorite vintage shop that needed adding. John came earlier than expected with the shopping and stood staring. Eventually, he cleared his throat and brought you back into 221B. 

“What the hell are you doing?" 

”…Meditating,“ you said with zero confidence. 

"You looked possessed." 

"It wasn’t going well. Or it was going very well, depending on who you ask." 

After the third time, which involved rattling off John’s own credit card number to him, the jig was up. He was surprised but mostly excited for the day when Sherlock found out. He tried to get you to promise to record the moment if he couldn’t, but you reminded him that you didn’t want Sherlock to know. 

It was during a case when Sherlock finally found out. They were researching, and it was getting down to the wire. 

"It’s a pattern! A set of interchangeable codewords,” Sherlock revealed. “Think, think!”

John tried throwing out options and looking through the files scattered around 221B. Something was popping up in the back of your mind, like a memory tapping you on the shoulder. You turned and closed your eyes. Which book in your “library” had the answer? It wasn’t a destination, food, a number—something niche, miscellaneous instead. You gasped and turned to Sherlock, ignoring that his eyes were watching you with pure curiosity. 

“What was that?” He asked. 

“It is a pattern because it’s a deck,” you said, ignoring him. “An Osho Zen Tarot deck." 

"That’s brilliant,” John noted, heading to his laptop. The light praise made Sherlock even more suspicious. John usually said that to him. His eyes narrowed, and you avoided his gaze, grabbing your nearly forgotten iced coffee instead. 

“Where did you just go?” Sherlock’s tone was accusatory, and you knew the secret was out. It had been eight months, that was pretty good. 

“When?" 

"Just now, y/n,” said Sherlock. John looked up and reached for his phone. He’d record this himself, it seemed. 

“Why is it such a big deal? I have a memory technique too. So?” You had to admit you were quite defensive as you sipped your drink AT the consulting detective. 

“How? I’ve never taught you,” Sherlock began, then reeled back in even more confusion. “Why would Mycroft teach you?" 

"Because I wanted help, and you’re such a prick sometimes,” you sighed, thinking of your undeserved scoldings. 

“Lots of times,” John murmured from where he was silently snapping pictures of confused Sherlock. 

“How long,”

“Eight months." 

"Okay.” Sherlock was lost in thought for a moment, wondering if there was a way he could have figured that out but missed it. He suddenly turned to John. “It’s not Osho Zen, John. They’ve designed their own.”

“Interesting,” you noted. 

John was off to bed, and you were gathering your things before calling a cab. Sherlock sat in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. 

“What is it for you, then? A street? A house,” he asked. You sighed and sat across from him, hoping that John wouldn’t mind.

“It’s a library. Everything is organized by books. It’s incredibly helpful.”

“And you didn’t want to ask me because I’ve been on you about your poor memory since we’ve met,” he concluded. 

“Yes." 

"And Mycroft was… happy to help?" 

"When is Mycroft happy?" 

Sherlock smirked softly at that one. His brother happily teaching a commoner how to do what the smart people do was a fantasy. 

"This is an excellent development on your end. I had noticed you getting better for a while, so it makes sense. You do so much more now.”

“Ugh, I was afraid you’d say that,” you grumbled, but smiled. You had wanted to be more helpful, and it was paying off—mission complete. 

When your cab came, Sherlock walked you to the door, which was admittedly uncharacteristic. 

“Y/n, before you go, I do want to apologize. I don’t,” he paused, making you very concerned. 

“What’s happened? It’s only been thirty seconds." 

"I haven’t been an excellent friend to you if, when you need something, you have to go to Mycroft of all people instead of me, who you see nearly every day. I’ll be better, though I may need your help,” he said. Sheepish Sherlock was new to you, and you didn’t mind it. 

“I accept, and thank you. I’ll do my best, too,” you said. With a goodnight and a wave, you hopped into the cab. There may be hope for Sherlock Holmes yet. 


End file.
